Pardon the Interruption
by absolutelycancerous
Summary: Because, let's face it, parents have sex, and Maka and Soul are no exception.


There are sometimes that being a parent takes a back seat to other things. Not often, but enough that it's an embarrassment.

Tonight, parenthood is forgotten later in the evening, after little daughter Evans has had her bath and bedtime story, and is tucked in to sleep without any problems. Maka is reading a book, swirling a strand of hair around her finger while her eyes scan the page, and Soul is making his intentions known with rubbing a hand up her leg and squeezing the top of her thigh.

"Hi," she mumbles, tucking her bookmark in before setting the novel down on the bedside table, abandoning her tale of heroes and adventure in favor of her husband's devilish grin and that little grind he gives against her that makes her own lips curl into a grin; she never stands a chance.

Soul pulls himself over her, carefully pushing her oversized nightshirt and helping her get it off with an easy tug and a toss before he ducks down to kiss her—he likes evening kisses the best, how they can still be enthusiastic but less chaotic and rough, he likes the feeling of their tongues sliding together so easily.

She's got her hands all over his chest, waking goosebumps where her palms rub his flesh; her hands are so warm, he's already shuddering, even before she's got a hand properly stuffed down into his pants. Maka makes soft noises into his mouth, turns her head to get a proper breath of air (mostly to keep from moaning out instead).

It takes a moment for her to gather her voice before she whispers with a tug, "_Pants_, Soul."

So they worm around a little to escape their pants, Maka's movements much more controlled than her husband's, who might as well be a dying fish, with the way his hips keep popping up as he wiggles out of his boxers. She turns to kiss him, and ends up laughing quietly when he dodges her in order to get himself back over her, lips kissing a knowing path down her neck before he settles his face into her smooth, warm flesh, indulging in the scent of faded perfume and her hair.

Her arms wrap around him, one hand toying in his hair gently and pressing back his bangs, the other running along the impressive muscle in his shoulders and back, aware of every twitch and movement he makes; she likes the fact he's not bulging, but toned enough to be of interest to her curious little fingers. She notes how tight his Trapezius feels, and she gives it a squeeze, ghosting her breath against his neck.

"You really need a massage."

Soul laughs silently into her skin, smiles into her. His wife is a dork in all the wrong moments, but it's a little nice to know how well she can read him.

"Tomorrow," he murmurs, lifting his head to press his lips to hers properly, moves his arms to prop himself up over her and watch her sigh with rolled-back eyes as he grinds against her, not inside yet, but she's still so excited for him.

"Tomorrow." Her hand runs down the length of him, or what she can reach, and her eyes close as she gets his cock in her warm hand—god, it's like she's on fire, he can't help but sigh shakily against her lips. They both moan silently (which is more like him opening his mouth against her mouth against his mouth) as she rubs the head of him slowly up and down the length of her slit, grinds herself against him when his tip pokes at her clit, and her teeth chomp down on her bottom lip. Soul gets a hand free to cup her jaw gently, tug a little at her bitten lip to get her to open her mouth again, so he can press his tongue into her mouth and taste the moment she guides him inside.

Her arms wrap tightly around him as he slowly tilts his hips the rest of the way in, savoring her warmth and wetness; this is a pleasure for him and him alone, and _that's_ the kind of thought that makes him several kinds of excited. Maka breathes heavily against his mouth, uses one of her hands to grab a handful of his ass in order to keep him fully inside her as she moves her hips a little, to find the proper place in order to sate her lust.

He's pulling back slowly, in order to fill her again, when there's a rather-loud voice asking "Daddy?" that has Soul literally throwing himself down beside her and yanking the covers up to hide her naked chest.

Maka almost has the mind to cry about him leaving her, but upon looking towards their now-open door, their daughter has her clicking back into primal-instinct Mama Mode, and Maka hopes that is enough to keep her voice from wavering and her cheeks from getting too embarrassingly red.

"What're you guys _doing_?" She implores, hanging on their doorknob with a look of absolute amazement on her face, big green eyes and wide open mouth. Maka feels Soul tense up behind her, his hand squeeze her hip in hopefully-shared concern—what can they tell her that isn't going to result in a sex-ed lesson, or mental scarring?

"You'll crush Mama if you hug her like that, Daddy!"

Soul laughs, but Maka hears the sigh of relief he lets out as he hangs his head. She also notes his erection still against her backside, and hopes a teeny, tiny bit that their daughter doesn't require anything in particular, like a second bedtime story, or soothing from a nightmare. She's not a horrible mother—well, she _hopes_ not— it can't be too uncommon to want sex from her husband, lord knows how Soul's taking the interruption.

(The answer is _extremely_ harsh; his wife makes him hard enough to fuck his way through concrete.)

"What's the matter, baby?" Maka asks, struggles not to sound too perturbed; she loves her daughter, more than her own soul, but now is not Maka's finest hour, admittedly.

"My pajamas are itchy." She wiggles and scratches at her belly and leg. "Can I have one of Daddy's shirts instead?"

Soul relaxes against her, and Maka smiles pleasantly at the fond memory that, yes, her husband didn't put away his laundry, _she doesn't have to get up_.

She points to the laundry basket by the door. "Any of those is fine, sweetheart."

Baby Evans tugs out a light orange top, bundles it up in her arms before she trots over to give her mother a kiss, and her father a little wave.

"Goodnight!" She chirps before heading back to her room, nearly slamming the door behind her. Soul lets out a loud sigh, dropping his head to his wife's shoulder and rubs her hip slowly, questioningly. Maka puts a finger to her lips, waits until she hears the faint sound of covers being moved around and settling before she turns and they settle into their place before, her heart hammering just as fast as his.

Soul tries to keep his wits, go slow and careful, to stay quiet, but Maka bucks eagerly beneath him, holds onto him tight and sighs desperately into his mouth—she doesn't like to be kept waiting. She whispers pleas to him, things like "I _need_ to!" with a million "pleases" tacked at the end of her begs. Soul quickly covers her mouth with his, murmurs that she has to stay quiet if they want to finish, and Maka nods quickly, sinking her nails into his back when he picks up the pace that perfect little bit.

She plays with her clit that little bit, still keeps an arm around him to claw into his back instead of calling out his name, and ends up shaking as she orgasms, thighs and really her entire being trembling with the force of her held-back moan; he only knows she's finished because of the look on her face and the shape of her mouth.

But she doesn't set to relaxing after her mind has shot through the stars. Maka pulls her arms tight around him, lips kissing all the skin she can reach before settling right against his ear, panting that him too, he needs to come, too—god, _please_, she needs it so bad.

It takes a minute or two, but he finally does, squeezing her tight to him as higher brain function is washed away by the euphoria of primal instinct, leaving him struggling not to pant too loudly and settling to kiss her instead, slow and open-mouthed. His arms tremble as he holds himself up, and Maka hugs him tight as she whispers about how good he feels, god, she missed this.

She gives him the chance to move, sigh in relief when he flops down in the pillows and nudges her hip for her to lie on her side while he settles himself behind her, arm slung over her waist and his face tucked against her back and the pillows.

"That was horrifying," he mumbles, and the lowness of his voice makes her chuckle and laces her fingers with his as she cuddles into him better.

"It could have been worse?"

He huffs and nestles against her, not unlike a pouty child. Maka snorts and kisses the back of his hand.

"She's going to a sleepover tomorrow," she muses casually, and almost bursts into laughter at his delight with her news, which he demonstrates with a wide grin into her back and a tight hug around her middle, as well as a whisper of "_fuck yes_" against her spine.


End file.
